User blog comment:Biggren/A Highway Beast's Life/@comment-3135907-20110916202645

Shafts of sunlight penetrate down through the trees of Mossflower Woods, as an idyllic summer noontide drifts on into early evening. Nearby one can hear the trickling of a stream, and further yet the roar of the true river. The clanking, grunting, jumbled noises of a large force of vermin can be heard on the breeze. Near the woodland fringe, a ferret and a weasel argue over a fish, while others squabble and fight over various items as well deeper into camp. Out of a large longhouse built of huge logs emerges a stoat wearing a crimson robe. At his hip a beautifully-wrought sword hangs in a thick scabbard, and a jeweled knife is stowed discreetly on the other hip, covered mostly by the robe. He turns suddenly and calls out to a fox nearby. "Mance!"